


A Tumble in the Mud

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Interspecies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo and Aragorn. In a rainstorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tumble in the Mud

"Do you remember Rivendell?" Though Aragorn's breath was  
hot in Frodo's ear, it made him shiver more than the chilly  
droplets of rain that fell from the Man's hair and  
sprinkled the back of his neck. His voice was so low and  
husky that Frodo barely heard it above the rain that  
battered the boughs sheltering the hobbits' flet. It seemed  
that even Lorien could not keep out the wild rainstorms of  
winter. Frodo's eyes were wide open, but he did not  
answer. Lips brushed his pointed ear, so soft, like the  
brief landing of a butterfly.

In Rivendell, he and Aragorn had one night indulged too  
much in Elvish wine, and somehow, laughing, stumbling, and  
pulling at each others clothing, they had fallen into the  
very bed in which Elrond had healed Frodo. Frodo had been  
so intoxicated that he barely had any memory of it. He had  
awakened with a terrible headache and the residue of  
lavender-scented oil on his sore bottom.

"I do remember," Frodo whispered with a content smile,  
still keeping his face turned away from Aragorn.

The calloused hand stroked Frodo's shoulder and then  
squeezed. "Come with me."

Frodo turned then. Aragorn stood on the ladder, and only  
his head and torso were visible from the flet. He was  
soaked, though he did not look uncomfortably so. It was a  
warm rain, more refreshing than chilling. Frodo smiled and  
nodded. He accepted Aragorn's helping hand, and he crawled  
backward out of the flet and onto the ladder, following  
Aragorn down to the ground far below. When they both  
reached the grass, Aragorn held his hand out to Frodo again  
with a smile that warmed Frodo's groin. They walked hand  
and hand through the woods for a time, letting the rain  
pound down on them, listening to the haunting Elvish  
singing that seemed never to end. Frodo was wearing only  
his shirt and breeches. He had taken off his mithril coat  
before sleep. His soaked shirt clung to his skin, and he  
could see the pink knobs of his nipples through the fabric.  
He hoped Aragorn would soon notice.

They walked down a narrow trail until they reached a  
clearing beside a bubbling stream. The ground was muddy,  
which seemed incongruent with the fresh cleanliness of most  
of Lorien. As Frodo's hairy toes sank into the mud, his  
groin stiffened.

Aragorn knelt before him, and his knees made a strange  
sucking sound as they, too, sank into the mud. He looked  
appreciatively at Frodo's nipples before his forefinger  
trailed down from Frodo's neck, over his chest, and circled  
the pink nub. Frodo shivered, leaning into him, not sure  
what to do next.

Finally, he stepped forward to work on the lacing to  
Aragorn's tunic, and as he did so, his foot caught on a  
slick rock. He slipped, landing on his backside.

"Whoa," Aragorn said with a wicked grin. He dropped to all  
fours, hovering over Frodo, pressing down on the hobbit's  
shoulders to keep him down on his back. Frodo was fully  
hard now, and his wet breeches clung uncomfortably around  
skin tingling with heightened sensation. How he had yearned  
for another chance at what they had done in Rivendell!  
Aragorn had never again mentioned it, and Frodo had assumed  
that it had only been the Elvish wine that had made him  
look appealing to the Man. This night was too good to be  
true!

The sight of Aragorn, his tunic half unlaced, all mussed  
and wet, his hot, muddy hands sliding up and down Frodo's  
now filthy sleeves, was too much to bear.

His hands slid under Frodo's shirt, rubbing muck up and  
down Frodo's belly and over his stiff nipples. Frodo  
thrust back his head, gasping, before grabbing Aragorn's  
hand and thrusting it inside his now unbearably tight  
breeches. Aragorn's calloused hand squeezed, and the  
abrasion from the mud between the Man's fingers sent  
reverberations through Frodo's entire body. He cried out,  
but before he released, Aragorn snatched his hand out of  
his breeches.

"Not so fast," he said. He leaned his forearms on the  
ground on either side of Frodo's head. He was relaxed, not  
watchful. Frodo smiled slyly before slamming his hip into  
Aragorn's side, taking the Man by surprise and knocking him  
on his back. Frodo was immediately straddling the top of  
his chest.

Aragorn chuckled and took Frodo's wrists in his huge hands.  
"What will you do with me?"

"I want your tunic off."

"Then take it off." Aragorn rested his hands under his head  
and closed his eyes, as if he were taking an afternoon nap  
in the sun. Frodo stared at him in annoyance for a brief  
moment. Aragorn was being smart, and he was going to pay  
for it.

Frodo ripped at the lacings until the hair on Aragorn's  
chest was fully revealed. So many gray streaks, and Frodo  
wondered how old Aragorn truly was. He had never revealed  
his age, only said that he was older than he looked.

"There's something we both have in common," Frodo muttered.

"What did you say?" Aragorn asked.

"Turn on your belly," Frodo said, climbing off of him,  
kneeling beside him. Aragorn did not open his eyes, but he  
raised his eyebrows. He obeyed without argument.

Frodo climbed to his feet and stood in front of Aragorn.  
"Open your eyes."

Aragorn rested his chin in his hands, watching the hobbit  
with great interest. Frodo held his gaze as he unclasped  
the braces that held his breeches. Frodo unbuttoned his  
breeches and let them fall to his ankles, stepping out of  
them. He was so hard it was painful. He fell to his knees  
in front of Aragorn's face. His pale legs sank into the  
mud, and some muck seeped up his buttocks.

"Take me."

Strong hands gripped his hips, and Aragorn's mouth devoured  
Frodo's hard member. Frodo clung to Aragorn's shoulders,  
his face thrust skyward from which the heavy rain continued  
to fall. In and out he was inside the hot moistness of  
Aragorn's mouth. He had already been close to the edge  
before Aragorn had taken him into his mouth, and now he  
thrust, no longer capable of caring whether he made the Man  
gag. Everything burst inside, and he cried out, clinging  
to Aragorn, thrusting madly.

And suddenly he was on his back, the warm mud enveloping  
his head, soaking his curls. He was not sure how Aragorn  
had moved so fast, but now the Man's leggings were down,  
revealing his long hardness. He sank onto Frodo, wrapping  
one arm firmly around the hobbit's waist and letting the  
other hand explore his buttocks.

"I think we'll not need oil this night." He kissed Frodo's  
neck, sucking and nipping gently.

"I am ready." Frodo looked up at the sky in adoration,  
drinking in the silver raindrops. He was aware this time,  
and he would remember forever. When they left this safe  
haven and were forced to face hardship again, he would look  
back to this and remember— this night he had been offered  
joy. And he had taken it gladly, at whatever cost.

Aragorn filled him until he could not be filled anymore.  
He was weakened from his last pleasure, but he already was  
hardening again at the idea that Aragorn, heir of Isildor,  
grim Dunadan, was inside of him, quivering with want,  
clutching desperately at the fabric of Frodo's filthy  
shirt. Aragorn did not cry out as he thrust a final time,  
sending a rush of warm wet that leaked down Frodo's thighs.  
He quivered for several moments, and then sank onto Frodo,  
kissing him tenderly on the lips.

"I love you," he murmured.

Frodo looked at him with an indulgent smile. "Surely not,"  
he finally said, though he found his jaw was beginning to  
tremble. He had never dared hope…

"I do," Aragorn said, rolling most of his weight from Frodo  
so that he lay on his side, pulling Frodo close to his  
chest. "I love you so much."

Frodo laughed nervously. "I did not know. I thought…the  
Lady Arwen…"

Aragorn's face grew sober, and he smoothed a soaked curl  
from Frodo's brow. "She is lost to me. She will sail to the  
Undying Lands with her people."

"But I am a hobbit."

"A brave, beautiful, stubborn hobbit with Elvish eyes."  
Aragorn's gray eyes gleamed with mischievous light.

"Not so beautiful…and covered in mud," Frodo said, feeling  
the muck that clung to his curls.

"There is a spring close by. There we can wash ourselves.  
And our clothing."

"Is it hidden?" Frodo asked, pulling out of Aragorn's  
embrace so that he could search for his breeches.

Aragorn did not answer, but his laughter promised that the  
night was far from over.

END


End file.
